v3rcity is a magazine blog...
Or a mlog as one of our bloggers so eloquently put it. It is a platform/format/space for youngins to converse, express themselves and share ideas... A mlog because paper is so last season
I know we've been quiet over the past month and we're sorry, are we allowed to blame the elections?? hehehe...
Well you'll be glad to know that the silence is not for nothing we at v3rcity have been working hard on our own site, as much as we appreciate blogspot it's time we branched out on our own domain.
We'll be rolling it out next month so watch this space...
To keep you believing that true love… ... is some movie going
bullshit.
If there’s one thing we’re always certain
about is how well we know ourselves. We know how we would act in certain
situations, how we would handle different dilemmas and we know for damn sure
what we would do if we were in that situation. That’s the problem with
teenagers we think we know everything, at least I did when I was one.
The only thing worse than being a teenager
who knows it all is being a self-proclaimed ‘smart’ teenager who knew it all.
Yes, I was a smart girl and that made me believe that I was smart enough not to
get hurt, after all I had readenough
articles in Seventeen Magazine and
watched enough episodes of As Told By
Ginger to know exactly what I would do ‘if it was me’(I mean how could
these girls not see it?? It is so obvious!).Looking back on it years later the only thing I know for sure, is that I
don’t know shit until I’ve experienced it.
My first real heartbreak, (not that high
school crap of being depressed for an hour or two after the end of a two week
relationship) was also my first “time”, you know, with like, a guy. It was the cliche story; he was the popular, hot, new guy that all the girls wanted and I
was the shy, awkward teen who could never summon the courage to speak to him.
Long story short, he left to finish high school elsewhere and when he came back
a year later I was still crazy about him.
By this time I’d gained a few years of
confidence to actually talk to him, we became friends quickly, and almost
immediately after, he started flirting with me. I was elated. Within a few
weeks we’d had our first kiss, and that night he was already texting me about
having sex… wait… what?? Yes that’s right. The same day he kissed me, he was already
trying to instigate a sexual relationship. In his defense, it must’ve been
obvious that I was into him; I might as well have had a red, neon sign flashing
“I’M EASY” across my chest. Of course looking back on it, everything about the
situation screamed “Booty call!” But being the vulnerable, naive, all of a
sudden not so smart teenager, I was torn.
I
had fantasized about him and me for years now, but I was a virgin. Did I really
want to give it up to someone whom I wasn’t even sure cared about me? I pondered
for weeks, agonizing over the decision and of course a teenager with a crush
never makes wise decisions. He had the house to himself one night and I thought
it would improve everything so I slept with him.
Can you guess what followed? No cuddling, no
sweet talk, he proceeded to get dressed and prepared to sleep in the other bed
in his room. The shock and rejection was like a slap across the face, I knew
guys could be assholes but could I have fallen for one who was borderline
cruel? I told him if he didn’t come back to bed I’d never speak to him again.
Knowing that, that would cut off any future booty supply he came back, but
having him lay next to me did not placate me. I cried silently that night
cursing myself for being so stupid. The next day he proceeded to make a feeble
excuse of why I needed to leave his house.
Again long story short, that wasn’t the end
of our relationship, we fought we made up and proceeded to eventually have a
fun friends with benefits arrangement.
It was not easy, I couldn’t deny I had
feelings for him and often I’d ask myself “what the hell am I doing??” But I
did learn from this and *now* I can say I “know”. Overall
the lesson learned is: It’s not always about the asshole, but the girl that
seeks the asshole.
"Not
much of a thug. First to admit, I'm a sucker for love". Substantial said
this and it resonates so well with me. A beautiful experience of life love is.
It takes you on a high and leaves you yearning for more and more. And when it’s
good it is REALLY GOOD, too good to let go like sex after a break up.
If
you've been hurt its cause you have loved and that can't be taken away from you.
It’s your journey and your experience. Some are unlucky though when it comes to
love while some are reckless with it. It is their right to handle it how they
like, it is their love. Me? I'll love the shit outta you till you don't want be
loved by another.
But
with this being valentines month, the commercial "celebration" of
love takes away from the purity of love. For me, that's why I never celebrated Valentine’s
Day because I love when I want to love not when I'm expected to or told to. If you
celebrate it, good for you but for me it just became pointless.
We
always question it though when it goes wrong and end up calling it just a 4
letter word. That's when you hear us saying "if that word was never heard
we would be on better terms". But in all honesty, like Substizzle said
"it’s like we love to live and live to love. Oh how tough it is to just
give it up. When it gets rough you ask yourself is this love?". When I
love, I love with all of me. I love love… plus it always makes sex a way better
cause love will have someone do stupid shit on purpose. None of that "you
want me to do what? You nasty ass sumamabish you"...
You get the best of
her cause y'all are in love. Shit, you might even upgrade sex to "making
love". You’ve got to love love. I sure as hell do!!!!!
It's happening again. Damn me, damn it all.
I'm fucking myself over,
can I stop it before its too late?
You mean more than the last,
but I'm doing the same.
I'm getting you mad and I'm pushing you away, Why do I alwaysscrew myself over? My mind is racing,
how do I stop this? How do I quit?
I want the game to be over,
but not like this. Sometimes you stop talking
and I feel like giving up
maybe I should.
I know I've lost (you.)
I just hope
that it doesnt happen again,
will you still be my friend?
The heart is one of the cruelest organs in our body. It pumps lies into us and beats to remind us how sad our existence is. You love bacon, but eat too much bacon, and the love pumper gets crammed up and strained, making your life miserable. Everything you love, your heart will turn it into poison for your body and kill you. I hate the heart.
Picture chilling with your girl and another example of God's beautiful design decides to introduce herself into your eyes vicinity. The pumper then sends pints of blood straight from your Thinker down to your pants as a sign of acknowledgement of erotic vista, leaving your brain less than capable of explaining to your girl why you're happy to see other girls. Stupid heart.
I don't have major heartbreak stories. My only source of self-cutting moments and throwing rocks at old couples was during video games. Most notably, MASS EFFECT.
Oh Mass Effect … love the way you lied to me. 5 years of my life I gave to you, and in the end, instead of a worthwhile conclusion where we run hand in hand into the sunset as the camera pans skyward and credits roll, you drove your omni-blade straight through my heart, kicked me in the quad and spiked me up like a husk on Eden Prime.
This video game shouldn't have, but it did, take up a large portion of my emotions. I invested my heart into the epic story journey and let my imagination control what I feel for the characters and the situations they were going through. I got to meet Quarians who were kicked out of their home world by walking iPhones, and Krogans who got to have loads of sex without worrying about pregnancy because the Salarians neutered them. A Turian became my best friend as we shared similar military strategies, and I "embraced eternity" with an Asari.
I wanted to know how this fictional world came to be and how my decisions can add to the resolve of all life's problems. This is because, if I could help these bits and pixels in their already scripted and coded lives, I could gain the courage to come back to the real world and do something as equally helpful to the meat bags I call family and friends.
The first two games were like building up the perfect relationship. I would find the right buttons to push and spend all night with my dearest Mass Effect. I would neglect all other girls in my life and only pay attention to the sweet silence of the Normandy's SR1 drive core. The general theme and tone of the game hinted a great step in cementing our love forever in the next game. I was assured that all will be well because of the effort and investment I put in.
And for the first 99% of the game, my investment paid off immensely. I was carrying around a 2-month nerd-boner from the excellent visuals and story depth that the geniuses at Bioware took the time to bring to life. The back-stories of the different alien species and the visit to their home-worlds just kept me replaying save-points just to burn the memory in my head. I'm even proud to say I wore down my girl and friends with so much Mass info until they started taking a some-what interest in the game.
And finally, the final war finale finish off. The might of a galaxy united, coming together for an all-out assault on the Reapers to take back Earth. The tears welled up. Star Wars and Star Trek combined COULD NOT bring this much energy even if they poured a gazillion tonnes of coffee into the MILKY way galaxy. A final approach on foot through a decimated London with your best friend Garrus and your bond-mate Liara, running towards the conduit as Harbinger blasts highways of red lasers at your every side. Your team gets injured, Seth Green flies in to evacuate them as you give Liara a final goodbye and run towards your death. At this point, I wasn't even at the edge of my seat; I was standing with my toes so curled that you'd think I was jizzing.
I couldn't be more in love with this game. Seriously! My heart was Mass Relaying love all over my body. And I could tell that the end was just a few minutes away, once we go head-to-head with Martin Sheen's Illusive Man. "Humanity, blah blah blah ... paragon or renegade response ... open Citadel ... finish the game over-looking the blue planet". Then suddenly, as if I was playing a different game, the end, the last 1% of this great series, was brought down to a weird conversation with a child who has a fetish for synthetics and 3 choices: Destroy, Control, Evolve. I gave each ending a chance and they were all the same. HEARTBREAKING, and not in the good way. It was more like What The Mass just happened and why can't I recoil out of this fetal position?
It's not just a video game that ended badly. This was a love that was given by me, to something worth being loved, only to be ripped apart and hurled back at me, when I needed a reciprocal love for all the time, money and effort I had put into it. I cried and whined so much along with millions of other fans that I eventually just started accepting what had happened, and that I couldn't change it. Maybe this was the lesson to take back to the real world. Serenity to accept things I cannot change. And just like that, this heartbreaking game was back in my life, to be played over and over ... to be heartbroken over and over ... in a never-ending relationship of hurt and love.
and it's February and we all know that means VALENTINES DAY!! I know, I know, I know, everyone will be talking about the wonders of love and how it conquers all. But sometimes love sucks, and that's what we gonna be talking about this month. Break ups, heartbreak, unrequited love, the works.
The Best Kept Secret Vol. 2, the latest
offering from hip hop crew group Royale, segues to the group’s formal release,
which is expected later this year. Royale is a collective from Lesotho and it
features artists, Mr. Maps, Nuch and L-tore. Royale employs the talents of an
array of other artists for this piece as well. The vast number of influences
makes the compilation seem schizophrenic and moody. The changes in tempo,
narrative and humour can be very jarring when you first hear it. But, once you
get to the end, the oscillations naturally blend into each other.
Unlike
most hip hop mix tapes that begin with the inescapable and interruptive ad libs of
obscure hype men or the DJ himself, The
Best Kept Secret Vol. 2 starts of as a conventional radio promo. A creative
and fresh introduction to the mix tape, it’s like your mother calling out for
you from the kitchen door to stop playing and come home for supper – it is hard
to ignore. It is homage to Mr. Maps’ previous stint as the host of what was
arguably one of the best music radio shows on Lesotho’s airwaves. I was hoping
Mr. Maps would explore the radio motif throughout the album and not just use
elements of radio to punctuate it. It might have been cool, Ray Ban and a
leather jacket cool, if the whole mix tape was carried out like a radio show.
The songs.
Let’s
start with the car bangers. Ka Mahetla
by Nuch is possibly the most idiosyncratic song on the album. Nuch almost
effortlessly manoeuvres 4 different parlances in the same verse. He exhibits
his bravado by interspersing English, Sesotho and Zulu lyrics. Then he adds a
forth dimension of slower reggae-dancehall-inspired rhythms. Qekha’s Banana (not to be confused with the
fruit) is an impressive ode to Basotho women with a very catchy chorus. The
backing track is chilled and summery. It is the kind of song that could be a ubiquitous
summer anthem.
Real Talk, much like All I Need, is reminiscent of the hip
hop street cypher - when emcees spat rhymes from the top of the dome and blew
you away with lyrical mastery before you even noticed that there was dope beat
behind it. Listening to these tracks is like one is peering over a wall to
watch emcees make magic in a secret basement.
L-Tore’s You Not Me and T-Mech’s Ba Tseba (ft Mosta Pi) are the most pop-oriented
songs on the tape. Ba Tseba’s chunky
guitar and the synthesised mid-tempo chords in You Not Me are en vogue.
The
transitions between the songs seem too abrupt and jolts from one song to the
next. The explosions that accompany these transitions are needless sometimes
grating. By the time you notice you are in a completely new zone, the song has
neared its end, punctuated with another ‘bang’ or ‘shoosh’.
The
strangest transition occurs between L-Tore and Qekha’s interpretation of Kelly
Rowland’s Motivation and Soul Slipping Away (Leomille ft Olive
Branch). The rugged sexually charged lyrics of Motivation are juxtaposed with the morose theme of death and a
broken silver cord found in Soul Slipping
Away. An uneasy vibrato carries - the shuddering yet reflective offering.
The beat hauntingly lingers over melancholic lyrics, forcing one to pain
attention to what is being said.
Under My Arm (L-Tore Qekha &
Mr. Maps) is an audacious but penetrating narrative of sexual rapture told over
a hypnotic beat (see what I did there?). However, the women-sex theme is
repeated so often in the rest of the album that by the time the record has spun
into It’s Yours (Royale ft Minister
Po), the whole idea is just trite. It’s
Yours is a psychedelic trip through the minds of the hip hop stars as they
vividly describe their erotic escapades, real or imagined. The stars almost
sound lovelorn.
The rendition
of the Bad Boy anthem, Bad Boy For Life
– which here called is Backdoor For Life,
for obvious reasons - is a rather underwhelming finish for the entire album. The
nostalgic reference to radio at the start of the album sets one up for a more
dramatic conclusion. Understandably, the song is an emphatic pronouncement or
even anthem of The Backdoor team. But the track and the chorus take away from
the strong lyrical content in the song. It is a rather lazy choice. Backdoor For Life does not do the rest
of the mix tape any justice. It is like buying a Rolex for your father on his
birthday then wrapping it up in the brown paper used to cover school text books.
The mix tape augurs well for any forthcoming releases. It whets the palate – a good
appetiser.
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